


Steering The Punt From The Cambridge End

by trulyunruly



Category: The Hobbit (2012), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Multi, basically the same quest only sillier and in modern times, there will be references to alcohol drugs and sex so be aware, written about students by a student
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-02-21
Updated: 2014-10-06
Packaged: 2017-12-03 04:30:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/694153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trulyunruly/pseuds/trulyunruly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"He could sense his CV was going to need an update. <i> First class degree, worked in bookshop, part-time burglar. </i> Employers would be clambering for him."</p><p>Bilbo Baggins is nothing special. At least, that's what he would tell you. He just wants to finish his degree in peace and that's what he is expecting to happen.</p><p>Until Grey shows up at his door.</p><p>Suddenly Bilbo finds himself carted across the country in pursuit of adventure - accompanied by thirteen less than reputable men, among them Thorin Oakenshield, who bears a grudge and who Bilbo certainly does NOT think is handsome. At all.</p><p>Meanwhile, at Cambridge University, the villain Smaug lies in wait and it appears Bilbo is the one to finally give him his comeuppance.</p><p>In which a uni roadtrip goes awry, an old wrong is righted and Bilbo becomes more and more convinced that Grey isn't even a student.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. An Unexpected Pile-In

**Author's Note:**

> This was initially written as a joke for my friend Hedda but it kind of took on a life of its own so I thought I'd upload it and see what the response was. I wrote it vaguely remembering an old prompt on the Hobbit kink meme but it wasn't really done for it. However, if the poster ever stumbles across this, I hope he/she enjoys it! I hope you guys do too ;) I live in England and am myself an undergrad at uni (not Cambridge or Bristol) so I hope some aspects of this will be realistic. But rest assured, this is going to be 95% silly. And this is my second published AU for The Hobbit so feel free to judge me.

Up until about nine o’clock that morning, Bilbo Baggins had been a respectable young man.

He had never claimed to be the brightest, the smartest, or the most handsome, but he was kind and never put so much as a foot out of line. He went to school, went to work, got into university and was a model student. He was likeable. He was good.

And according to Grey, he was perfect burglar material.

“This is mad,” he choked even as Grey bustled quite contentedly about his kitchenette, “This is nuts, this is bonkers, this is—”

“I’m sure you possess a wide range of synonyms for ‘insane’, Bilbo,” Grey cut in cheerfully, “But your point has been made and I must disagree.”

“But this _is_ insane. I’m not a thief! I’ve never stolen a thing in my life!”

Grey furrowed his brow, “And you never will with such an attitude.”

“I refuse to steal anything for the sakes of—of—see, I don’t even know these people!”

“They’re a merry bunch.” 

“I’m not even sure I know you!”

“I’m charming.”

“Grey, I’m sorry, but I cannot take part in this. You have the wrong man. You want some sort of delinquent, someone adventurous or interesting. I’m none of those things. I study Classics!”

Here, Grey spun around to glower at Bilbo, “Well, no _wonder_! You’ve spent far too long with your head in the sand, Bilbo Baggins! What would your mother say?”

“You’ve met my mother?!”

“We chatted for quite a while when she last came to see you. She worries about your social life.”

“How the hell do I know you again?!”

~~~

Against his better judgement, Bilbo let Grey leave with the promise of dinner that night, to further discuss Bilbo’s involvement in what Grey optimistically calls the Quest. Bilbo privately decided that it is no quest, but rather an excuse to drive to Cambridge in a mini van with buddies and do something stupid. Like get drunk. Or—or—whatever. Not Bilbo’s idea of fun at all but he had chosen to humour Grey and humour Grey he shall.

He was just rifling around in the cupboards for his pasta strainer when there was a knock on the door. It was five past six; Grey was early.

Only it was not Grey’s smile that Bilbo met when he answered the door. It was the stony countenance of a beast of a man, complete with shaved head, tangled black beard and tattoos up and down arms twice the width of Bilbo.

“I’m Dwalin,” said the giant and inclined his head.

“Eep,” said Bilbo.

Dwalin paid him no heed. He pushed his way into Bilbo’s hall, eyed the pale green paint of the wall suspiciously, and then turned back to his startled host.

“And where’s the food?”

Twenty minutes later, after Dwalin worked his way through half a pot of macaroni and cheese and a carton of juice (“what do you _mean_ you have no beer?”), his brother arrived. Balin was smaller and less intimidating, with a shock of pale hair and a smile hiding under the hook of his nose.

“Jolly good of you to have us over, Mr Baggins,” he blustered, ripping a packet of biscuits out of Dwalin’s hands. The broader man _hissed_.

“It’s, it’s no trouble,” squeaked Bilbo, who was feeling very small and confused, “Only, I’m not sure that I know either of—”

“Honestly, Dwa, did you leave _anything_?”

“There’s pasta on the hob and the cupboards are heaving, don’t go acting like I’m anything like Bombur.”

“There’s nothing like Bombur, brother.”

“What’s a Bombur?” Bilbo asked but his answer was drowned out by yet another knock at the door. This lead to another eight men piling into Bilbo’s little flat, lugging laughter and shouts and one whole keg of something foul-smelling. Bombur turned out to be an overweight, redheaded fellow who ushered Bilbo back into the kitchen in order to make more food—“this lot will be baying before long but I’ll help you, Mr Baggins!”

Before too long, they were all packed into the living room making a real din and Bilbo was beginning to get quite upset.

“Look, you lot!” he shouted but he was barely heard over the cheers as Bombur caught in his teeth a grape thrown by the man in the hat, “Listen— _listen_!—I don’t know who you are or where you—oh in the NAME OF ALL THAT IS HOLY, WHO IS THAT?”

One of the men, whose hair was pulled up into a ponytail, twisted to look at the door, which had again been knocked upon.

“That’ll be the others.”

“Others? _There are more of you_?”

“Well, there are thirteen overall and—Mr Baggins, what are you doing with that spoon?”

Bilbo, halfway to the door, had a right mind to thwack over the head with his spoon whoever was on the other side, even if it was Grey. Especially if it was Grey.

It was not Grey.

It was the handsomest man to have appeared at Bilbo’s door quite possibly ever and Bilbo’s weapon dropped to the floor with a clink.

“You must be Mr Baggins,” said the man. He was tall and muscular, not to the extent of Dwalin but rather with a subtler strength that made Bilbo’s tummy feel awfully warm. His brown hair was twisted in a braid that hung over his shoulder and the eyes carefully assessing Bilbo were iron grey and quietly intelligent. Like nearly every man in Bilbo’s flat, he was bearded but it was cropped close to his face and accented his features rather than pulling attention from them.

“Um,” said Bilbo. The man frowned.

“I thought his name was Boggins,” came a second voice, younger and bemused, and another dark head popped up around the man’s left side. This one was a boy—long-haired but beardless. His eyes lit up in amusement when he found Bilbo. “Hallo! I’m Kili! Is it Baggins or Boggins?”

“You’re an idiot, Kee,” said a third voice. Another younger man, blonde this time with a thicker dusting of hair on his chin, nudged Kili out of the way, “Ignore him. I’m Fili and this is our older brother Thorin. Is everyone else here?”

“Everyone else—?” Bilbo, who was torn between blushing and paling at the prospect before him, had quite forgotten the other ten men in his home, “Oh! Oh, they’re yours!”

“They certainly are,” chuckled a very, very familiar voice and Grey stooped between Fili and Kili to smile at Bilbo, “Good evening.”

Bilbo was going to need that spoon after all.

~~~

Once all fourteen men were arranged comfortably in the living room—Bilbo was listening in from the kitchen, perched on a counter and sulking—the meeting could begin.  
“I’m sure you all understand why we are here,” Grey began, sounding more severe than he ever had, “Far to the East, over train tracks and farmlands, lies the city of Cambridge and, in it, the world-famous Cambridge University. Our target.”

They were targeting a prestigious institution? Bilbo was suddenly struck with the feeling that he had anarchists in his living room. _As long as they don’t set fire to my sofa._

“Three years ago, during a harmless visit to our own dear Bristol, a group of Cambridge students took something from us. Something precious. You all know of what I speak.”

A grumble of assent. One person murmured in a reverent voice, “The Arkenstone.”

_No, I don’t know of what you speak. But I never do. I don’t even know how we became friends. I didn’t even know you went to this school._

“In two weeks’ time, Smaug will graduate from Cambridge University and with him the Arkenstone will go. You have all agreed that this cannot be allowed to happen. Therefore, it is proposed that we travel to the city of Cambridge, hunt down Smaug, and retrieve what is lost. Any questions?”

“Just one,” this was the man in the hat with the large earflaps, “No offense or nothing, but what are Alice, Tweedledee and Tweedledumb doing here?”

From the outraged yelps, Brilbo deduced that he was referring to Fili, Kili and the little man sandwiched between Ponytail and another man with very short light hair. Handsome Braid sighed.

“Fili and Kili are on break and have come to visit their brother,” Grey answered, “And you wouldn’t leave two young lads alone in Bristol, would you?”

“That actually sounds like a great plan,” grinned Kili and Handsome Braid shoved him off his armrest.

“And Ori wants to look around, since he’s interested in applying to Cambridge next year,” the man with short light hair said proudly. Ori promptly turned scarlet and hid his face in Ponytail’s shoulder when he was met with guffaws.

“Leave the lad alone,” Handsome Braid commanded and the room fell silent, “The problem isn’t the University. It’s Smaug and it’s his actions that must meet retribution. The Arkenstone is precious to me. Smaug and his cronies took that. And until now we have been forced to live with that humiliation. Regardless of who you are and what you do, you have all agreed to help me and I would take every single one of you over even two-for-one-drinks nights at Amoeba.”

A few of the men smiled at this.

“This might be our last and only chance. What do you say we take it and take back what is ours?”

Now the men all roared their agreement. Even Bilbo felt a little swept up into their enthusiasm until he remembered one important detail.

“Excuse me,” he said once the men had quieted and abruptly fourteen pairs of eyes were on him, “Sorry to interrupt but—who are you, what is the Arkenstone and why am I here?”

Dead silence.

“I suppose,” Grey said slowly, “that I can answer your questions precisely as you asked them. Allow me to introduce the Company! That’s Gloin, Oin, Bifur, Bofur in the hat, Bombur, Nori, Ori and Dori, Dwalin, Balin and Fili, Kili and Thorin Oakenshield. The Arkenstone is the moniker given to a shot glass Thorin’s grandfather won in a game of beer bong when he was an undergraduate, that he passed onto his son, who passed it onto his. It was stolen three years ago and now these fine gentlemen wish to retrieve it. You are here because you live here, dear Bilbo, but, to tell you what you really wish to know, I believe that you are just the right person to swipe the Arkenstone from under Smaug’s nose.”

Grey looked at him. Gloin and Oin looked at him. Bifur, Bofur and Bombur looked at him. Ori, Dori and Nori looked at him. Dwalin and Balin looked at him. Fili and Kili looked at him. Handsome Braid—Thorin—frowned.

“Grey, I think he’s going to—”

Bilbo fainted.


	2. Oatmeal Or Toast

When Bilbo stirred again into wakefulness, the flat was throbbing. It took him a few minutes to regain his bearings and blink the sleep from his eyes before he understood what was happening.

“No— _NO_!”

He catapulted out of his bed (when had he been put to bed?) and out the door, back into the living room where a whole gang of rowdy and drunken men were blasting music and apparently having a party. They barely even noticed as Bilbo weaved through them towards the stereo. The Oakenshields were nowhere to be seen, Grey was puffing on a cigarette by the window with Balin and Dori, Oin was clapping gloved hands over his ears and roaring about how much he _hated_ dubstep and the others were shrieking and jumping around like lunatics. Bofur was just preparing to leap off the sofa (it’s what all the rockstars do, he had argued) when Bilbo tugged on the plug and the music broke off.

Immediately, he was confronted with ten very unhappy men.

“None of that!” he shouted. Any thoughts of manners or politeness were now wiped clean from his mind. “I have neighbours! I have friends! I do not need anybody barging into my home and dragging me on quests or roadtrips or whatever it is you’re calling it! What I need is for all of you— _respectfully and quietly_ —to—”

“Mr Baggins?”

It was Thorin, stood in the doorway and peering over his friend’s heads at their little host. Bilbo’s voice withered and slunk away with a final “g— _ahhh_.”

Blowing out a snake of smoke, Grey arched his eyebrow knowingly.

“Thorin was just running his brothers home before they got any ideas,” Grey informed Bilbo in the silence.

“Ideas?” Bilbo repeated weakly, “What id—oh, _oh_ , that’s not a cigarette, that’s cannabis, isn’t it?”

Grey smiled. Balin coughed guiltily and smothered his joint on the window sill. 

“Grey, please, bringing alcohol and drugs and strangers into my flat, can you just—?”

“Mr Baggins, a word,” Thorin interrupted and backed into the hall without checking to see that Bilbo would follow. Which he did, shadowed by Grey. The men left in the living room grumbled but did not turn on the stereo again.

Thorin made Bilbo’s hallway seem very small as he turned to him and folded his arms, “Mr Baggins. Are you, or are you not, intending to accompany us?”

Bilbo jerked back in surprise, “I—”

“I was informed,” here, Thorin’s eyes flickered up to Grey, who shrugged his shoulders, “that it was you who offered up your home for tonight. That you were the ideal candidate for this mission.”

“Are you sure 'mission' is the right word?” Bilbo asked meekly, “Isn’t this whole trip a little…silly? It’s only a shot glass.”

If Thorin had looked stormy before, now he was downright thunderous. His thick brows drew down into a scowl to rival even Bilbo’s cousin Lobelia and his jaw seemed made out of rock when it clenched. Bilbo started back and all but rammed into Grey, who was still irritatingly calm.

“If that is how you feel, my men and I will depart now,” Thorin said darkly, “Perhaps for the best; you look more like a grocer than a burglar.”

“Thorin,” Grey began but Thorin had already swept past back into the living room to bark orders at his friends. Bilbo was frozen with shock as ten men ambled past him. Some bade him cheery farewells and thanked him for the food; the others ignored or glowered at him. Dwalin’s glare, in particular, was an intense one. When at last Thorin reached the door, Bilbo felt quite near tears.

At the last moment, Thorin spun back around and fixed Bilbo with a stern gaze.

“Thank you for putting up with us,” he said stiffly and waited to continue until Bilbo had uttered a quiet “no problem”, “If you should change your mind, we meet tomorrow at the Students’ Union at ten. Good night, Mr Baggins.”

“Night,” Bilbo returned a split second after Thorin closed the door behind him. He took a heartbeat of time to just breathe—then he rounded on Grey.

“Would you care to tell me just what the bloody hell you’re playing at?”

“I could say just the same thing,” huffed Grey, “Since when did the neighbours become a bigger issue than enjoying yourself?”

“Are you _angry_? You don’t get to be angry!”

“I’m not angry, I’m just disappointed.”

“God, you’re like a bloody mother! An awful mother, to be fair, but a mother nonetheless!”

“Well, I worry about you. Your mother worries about you. You’ve too much of your father in you, she says.”

“Oh my _God_ —”

“Bilbo, listen to me,” now Grey stooped a little to look Bilbo in the eye, unnervingly serious for once, “You are a good student and a clever man. You are friendly and caring and comfortable and that is to be admired. There are many who would trade all the jewels in the world to live a life like yours. I am merely concerned that you _squander_ it.”

“Squander,” repeated Bilbo. Grey nodded.

“When did you last go out, Bilbo? And uni doesn’t count.”

Bilbo said nothing.

“When did you last get so drunk that you couldn’t walk, or sleep in on a Saturday, or do anything that wasn’t the very height of responsible?”

“Getting shitfaced all the time doesn’t always mean living life and having fun!” Bilbo spluttered.

“I know that. I’m not asking you to do that. I’m asking you to give _yourself_ a chance. Have a few stories of your own to tell. Celebrate being young and carefree because this might be the only time you can be both.”

Bilbo was silent for a very long time, long enough than Grey wondered if he was going to faint again. Then, in a small but firm voice, he said, “I can’t.”

“Very well.”

With that, Grey turned with a flourish and plucked his fedora from Bilbo’s hat stand, “Then I’ll leave you for tonight, dear Bilbo, but we will undoubtedly meet again.”

“When you’re back maybe. From rescuing the Arkenstone,” Bilbo suggested drily, omitting the fact that he was not sure he ever wanted to see Grey again. Grey smiled sadly.

“Goodbye, Bilbo.”

Then he was gone and Bilbo was alone again.

~~~

Bilbo slept very well that night, blinking open his eyes at eight a.m. and stretching quite contentedly.

It took that stretch for him to remember that his flat was a mess, his neighbours were undoubtedly very unhappy and a quest was departing from the university campus in a matter of hours and he had declined it.

 _For the best_ , Thorin had said and so Bilbo told himself as he had a leisurely shower and dressed, _I’m not a burglar. I’m not adventurous. I would hate such a journey._

He ambled to the kitchen. Pots and pans, crusted with cheesy pasta bits, were piled in the sink but it was not in too bad a state. Bilbo decided to deal with it after breakfast and so popped open his cupboard. He would have to go shopping soon; his choices this morning were oatmeal or toast. The toaster was a bit on the fritz, he would have to look into that, so maybe oatmeal—

Bilbo paused. His eyes gazed unseeing into the cupboard.

Oatmeal or toast.

Oatmeal or toast.

Oatmeal or toast.

Or quest.

~~~

Greg Gamgee only popped his head out the front door for a moment, to grab the morning paper. He did not anticipate that it would almost get taken off by a rushing Bilbo Baggins.

“Oh, oh, sorry, Mr Gamgee!” Bilbo yelped. His outdoor coat was only half-zippered; his heavy hiking boots clomped and clattered against the floor; and he was hauling an overstuffed backpack onto his shoulders. Greg blinked.

“’Ere, you goin’ home this weekend, Bilbo?”

“No, no, I’m—I’m going on an adventure!” Bilbo squeaked and then he was dashing off again, round the corner to the stairs and vanishing with a series of thumps. 

Greg chuckled. Kids these days. As long as he didn’t draw rude signs on his door, Greg had no problem with the boy.

~~~

It was two minutes past ten and still Grey held the door of the van open, asking for just one more minute.

“Your wee friend made it clear last night,” Dwalin growled, “Let us be off. This journey will be trying enough with these two.”

He leaned over to snap at Fili and Kili, who were piled in the back and complaining quite loudly about it. Thorin sighed.

“We’ll leave no later than five past but Mr Baggins will not arrive, Grey,” he warned him. Grey’s eyes lit up.

“Would you care to bet on that, Thorin?”

Thorin rolled his eyes, “Are there any vices you _don’t_ have?”

“A life without vices is no life at all. Ten pounds?”

“Okay,” Thorin said, “Ten pounds given away, my friend, but I’ll make the bet. Baggins won’t arrive.”

“I think he will,” piped up little Ori, for once away from his brothers and lounging quite happily in the window seat of the middle row.

“Is that so?” Grey asked.

“Don’t you dare,” said Thorin.

“I’ll make a bet, Grey!” yelled Fili, sticking his head between the headrests, “Fifty quid says Thorin does his nut by lunchtime and drives us all into a ditch!”

“Sorry, Fili,” said Grey, “I do not take bets that I know I will lose.”

Before Thorin could retaliate, one of the other cars honked its horn impatiently. There were three vehicles overall: Thorin’s van, with Dwalin, Grey and the youngest three; Nori and Dori had a rented Range Rover that they were somehow shoving Bombur and his family into; and Balin, Oin and Gloin would follow in the sensible silver Audi that Gloin had spent his savings on when he found out his girlfriend was going to have a baby. Said baby, luckily, was not making an appearance on this trip. Gloin had been given a free pass from work and the missus to bugger off on a short trip with his mates, as had Bombur. 

Out of all the Company, only Thorin, Bofur and Nori were in university still, though everyone was based in the city and knew one another. Gloin, Bombur and Dori all had jobs and houses and were technically ‘adult’; Bifur was on the dole after his head injury, which he probably exaggerated but nobody was going to say so; Oin had started medical school; Dwalin had decided not to bother with higher education and Thorin had been his best friend since primary school; no-one was quite certain just what Balin and Grey did; then, of course, there were the three kids. 

It was Gloin now pressing down on his horn, making motions out the window for them to hurry up. Grey shifted awkwardly.

“A couple of minutes, Thorin.”

“We will be waiting all day if you’re so desperate not to lose your money,” Thorin teased, “At any rate, I don’t want to hang about any longer, so would you—”

“THERE YOU ARE!”

Thorin, about to jump into the front seat, almost toppled straight out again. Fili and Kili, thank goodness, did not notice, too busy were they pressing surprised faces to the window through which they could see Bilbo, red-faced and panting, running towards them.

Grey laughed.

“I had almost given up on you!” he exclaiming, patting Bilbo on the shoulder when he finally reached them. Bilbo was wheezing but addressed his next words to a decidedly startled Thorin.

“I had to pack and—and then I got a bit lost, wasn’t sure which part you meant or whether you’d have cars but I just noticed you, what luck! I hope you don’t mind too terribly, I was very upset last night, but I think I’d rather like to join your mission—quest—thing if you’ll have me?”

Thorin opened and closed his mouth a couple of times. Bright-eyed with exertion, Bilbo grinned at him. Then, Thorin turned to Grey.

“You wanker.”

“Ten pounds, Oakenshield!” trilled Grey and ushered a bemused Bilbo towards the car, “In you get, next to Ori, Bilbo, I’ll put your bag in the boot. Thorin, hadn’t we better be off? It’s almost five past ten!”

Thorin made a mental note to wring the man’s neck later. But when Bilbo turned another, shyer, smile on him, he could not quite bring himself to feel anything but a bit pleased.


	3. The Tragic Backstory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Songs are sung, stories are told, burgers are eaten. The peace is not to last.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long! The song the boys sing at the beginning, I think, is just called I'll Buy a Teapot and is a typical jolly car song. Driving from Bristol to Cambridge takes about three hours and Stevenage is a town in between, just to the north of London. Given that the journey isn't as epic as the one to Erebor, I've decided most of the action will likely take place in the city of Cambridge itself. That means the next few chapters will probably be a lot of male bonding!

In the proper circumstances, a car journey can be an enjoyable experience. Being in a confined space for a long stretch of time is no easy feat but, with the right people, with the right landscape rolling past the window, much laughter and talk could be shared.

Bilbo was less than an hour into this quest, in a van with a group of near strangers, and he was losing hope that this was to be such a trip. He was not alone in this sentiment; the grinding of Dwalin's teeth had steadily grown louder as the singing of the youngest of their company had steam-rolled into screaming.

" _I'LL BUY A TEA POT BIG ENOUGH FOR TWO,_  
 _BIG ENOUGH FOR TWO, MY DARLING,_  
 _BIG ENOUGH FOR TWO..."_

Even Grey had joined in.

Bilbo huffed through his nose and leant against the headrest, sighing the car ceiling gloomily. The back of his seat jolted for the fifth time, accompanied for the fifth time with "Sorry, Mr Boggins!". (For the last two rounds of the song, Kili had been attempting to incorporate dance moves.) At least the boys were happy and Grey was kept from trying to talk to Bilbo. Bilbo was not sure he much wanted to speak to Grey right now, or indeed ever again. Not for the first time, he regretted running out of his front door that morning.

" _AND I'LL BE YOUUUUURS,_  
 _IF YOU'LL BE MIIIIIINE,_  
 _AND I WILL LOOOOOVE YOU,_  
 _TIL THE END OF T-Y-M-E—_ "

"THAT'S ENOUGH!"

Dwalin's roar, for there was no other word for what it was, hammered through the cheerful song and Bilbo jerked upright. Gripping the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles bleached white, Dwalin spat out his next words like bullets from a gun.

"Time is not spelt with a _y_ , you little bastards! IT'S T-I-M-E, TIME! HOW HARD IS THAT? For fuck's sake—"

"Really, Dwalin, language," Grey sighed like a long-suffering parent. Bilbo thought he saw a vein pop out of Dwalin's neck. "Just because you have no sense of fun does not mean you should ruin it for others."

"Is this your idea of fun?" Dwalin demanded. Grey opened his mouth to speak again—probably to rile Dwalin up further, which Bilbo thought unwise because Dwalin was driving and it was so easy to explain away a fatal car crash as an accident—when Ori, contrite in silence until now, blurted out, "I'm sorry, Mr Dwalin!"

There was a pause. Bilbo could see Dwalin's hands relax. Dwalin heaved out a breath.

"S'okay, little one."

Fili and Kili were, needless to say, not best pleased.

"Whaaaaaaaaaaat?"

"If I had said that, he would've told me to stop brown-nosing!"

"Favouritism!"

" _RACISM_ —"

"Oi," Thorin cut in smoothly and twisted around to glare at his brothers over the middle bench. Bilbo automatically leant out of the way and into Ori, who blinked owlishly at him (and he was only trying to avoid those eyes which were _not_ intense and _not_ deep and _not_ fascinating at all).

"Enough's enough, alright? We've got ages yet to go. Don't antagonise the driver."

Judging from the silence, the boys were taking Thorin's words to heart. Thorin turned back around and, for a few blissful minutes, the car was quiet and Bilbo could hear himself think again.

Grey, naturally, was the one to break it.

"I say, Bilbo," he chirped and peered down at Bilbo (who was aggressively pretending to be asleep), "How is your mother?"

Bilbo could not quite stop himself from jumping in surprise at this, "I—my _mother_?"

"It's been some time since she's visited, after all. Lovely lady, Bell. She's Italian, isn't she? Terribly interesting."

It took a moment for Bilbo to realise that Grey was talking to everybody in the car at large. It took another moment to realise that Fili was leaning forwards in interest.

"Are you Italian, Mr Baggins?"

Bilbo blinked at him and then looked up to glower at Grey. _So this is his game—punishing me for not wanting to come by getting personal. What is he trying to accomplish?_

Grey's eyes merely twinkled innocently back at him. Bilbo sighed.

"No, Fili, I'm not. My mother did go to Italy when she was at school, though."

Fili shuffled nearer and Bilbo realised that he was genuinely interested, "For, like, a year-abroad scheme? Did she get to see much, learn any of the language? What did she study?"

"I—er—"

"Fili," Thorin's voice, amused, rumbled from the front, "Stop pestering."

"Sorry," Fili said, "I only want to know. I'm going to uni in September, you see, and I get to go somewhere in my third year."

"Do you?" Bilbo asked mildly. Somewhere behind him, Kili made a tssk-ing noise.

"School's boring. Does anyone want to play I-spy?"

A growl from Dwalin quickly killed any hope he might have entertained. Silence fell yet again, only now Bilbo found his own curiosity piqued.

"I _am_ wondering myself, actually," he ventured to Fili, still resting his head between Bilbo and Ori's headrests, "about you. More importantly, all of this shot glass business. How did all of that happen?"

"Oh, that," Fili said dismissively, "Got lost, that's the gist."

"Hardly," Thorin scoffed and Bilbo shot around to stare at the back of his head, "It's more complicated than that."

"Could you tell me?" Bilbo asked. At this, Thorin turned again, appraising Bilbo with a crease between his eyebrows. The very weight of that gaze upon him had Bilbo's stomach twisting and he could barely stand to hold it with his own.

Hold it he did, however. He did not want to seem afraid or unworthy. He was in this car; that was proof enough that he deserved this at least.

After a loaded moment, Thorin nodded. Beside him, Grey made a satisfied noise.

"Alright then, Baggins," Thorin said and shifted against the back of his seat, getting more comfortable, "It might sound silly to you but the shot glass is an heirloom, something that mattered not only to me but to my father and grandfather too. My grandfather got it when he was nineteen. He was on break and was visiting friends in London. He was playing a game of beer bong in one of their flats. There were a lot of people there but in the end it was between my granddad and a girl who bet the glass she had been drinking from that she could beat him. She lost and he took the glass home," here, Thorin's lips curled up in a wistful smile, "Her name was Sandra Arken and he went on to marry her."

Bilbo was quite unable to stifle an "aawww". At Thorin's startled look, Bilbo quickly cleared his throat and gestured that Thorin should continue. One thing to moon over the man every time he glanced his way; quite enough to vocally humiliate himself every time he said anything.

Thorin moved again and carried on, "Thror—my granddad—considered it a lucky charm after that. Nicknamed it the Arkenstone after he and my grandmother married and apparently it never lost him a game. When my dad left for school, he gave it to him. It brought the same luck to him that it brought to Granddad."

"Did Mum and Dad meet playing beer bong?" Kili interrupted, sounding horrified. Thorin levelled a scowl over Bilbo's head at him.

"Nope but that's how they conceived you," he replied. Bilbo could not see but, from the smirk that broke out over Thorin's face a moment later (and the bellow of laughter from Fili), the look on Kili's face must have been priceless.

" _Anyway_ ," Thorin called over Fili's cackles, "when I got into Bristol, my dad gave the Arkenstone to me. He told me that it was a tradition now, one that would hopefully be as good to me as it had to Granddad and to him. And for a while it was."

"He had a hell of a reputations after freshers' week, that's for sure," Dwalin muttered and Thorin grinned at him. A strange jolt of _something_ rocked through Bilbo at this. It was such a such a fond, familiar look, as open as Bilbo had seen Thorin be so far. He was pulled out of his thoughts by Thorin twisting back to him.

"Anyway, one weekend, a friend of mine from Cambridge decided to go home for his birthday—and invited a load of us," he said and here his face began to darken, "I still can't quite remember what happened that night. But I remember waking up the next morning, on my friend's parents' sofa, and the Arkenstone wasn't in my bag. It wasn't anywhere. When we went to find the lads we'd met up with the night before, none of them had it. They all remembered it, though. And they all remembered this one guy drinking out of it. _Smaug_."

This last word was hissed out and an involuntary shudder raced down Bilbo's spine.

"We didn't know where he was or even what college he was at. I had to come back without the Arkenstone, tell my father that I had lost it. The look on his face—I won't forget it. It's a lot more than a shot glass, you see, Baggins," Thorin's eyes rose again. This time, Bilbo could not quite meet them. "A couple of weeks ago, one of the Cambridge boys who stayed in touch contacted me. Said he had seen Smaug. This might be the last chance I have of getting that heirloom back—and I am taking it with both hands."

~~~

They passed through Stevenage at around one o'clock and that was when Balin called Thorin and informed him that Dori had told him that Bombur had told him that if they did not stop for lunch soon desperate measures would be resorted to. As Dwalin plucked the phone from Thorin's hand to ask where the nearest Burger King was, Bilbo heard Kili snicker to Ori that Bombur probably intended to eat the littlest of their company. Ori promptly turned white.

Bilbo could not quite help but snap, "Stop teasing him. _And_ Bombur. I seem to recall that he was the only one to help me when you lot invaded my home last night."

"I wouldn't call it an invasion," said Grey breezily, "It was more of an unexpected pile-in."

"A pile-in?"

"A flood."

"That's more like it but not quite—"

"McDonald's!" Dwalin shouted and Bilbo peeped out to see the golden arches glowing against the overcast sky, "Call Balin back. Tell them to get their arses over here. I want chicken nuggets."

It was a bit of a kerfuffle, getting all three cars and fifteen men into the park. After three hours cramped in the back of the car, Fili and Kili were bursting with energy and darting about uncontrollably. (Thorin had to physically wrangle Kili away from the children's playground.) Even Ori was buzzing and jostling about his brothers as they bickered over something or other. Bilbo simply enjoyed the cold, clean air and relished the stretch of his legs. He did not quite realise how hungry he was until the doors to the restaurant opened before them and the smell of frying batter wafted around them.

That was when he realised Grey was gone.

"Oh!" he cried and twirled around, as if he might have missed that lanky frame and tilted hat among their company, "Oh! Where did he go?"

"Who?"

This came from Bofur, the man in the hat with long earflaps. He happily stopped next to Bilbo and watched him crane around in search of Grey even as the others ambled towards the counter.

"Grey," replied Bilbo and Bofur shrugged.

"Grey's an oddball. He likes to wander off. He'll be back soon, I'm sure," he answered and then threw an arm around Bilbo's shoulders, "Whaddya fancy? On me, 'course. I feel bad about the whole fandango last night. Chips?"

"But—er—I couldn't get a burger, could I?"

"I don't see why not!"

Forty minutes later, Bilbo was happily polishing off a McFlurry ice cream, tucked between Bofur and his cousin Bifur (who only seemed to speak French) and listening to the men's rather animated conversation.

"I met Nannen in primary school," Gloin was telling him cheerfully, "She pushed me in the mud when we were eight. A right spitfire! We didn't go out until, oh, must have been Year Ten and I certainly never dreamed she'd be up for marrying me. Now we've got Gimli and he's ten months old now."

"And he's all we've heard about for ten months," Dwalin exclaimed and Gloin elbowed him in the gut. He did not seem to notice. "Oi, Kili, Fili—if you're gonna just sit there, go out and fetch the map from the van, will you? Balin, I want to double-check our route."

Thorin yanked his keys from his pocket and passed them over to Fili. He was opposite Bilbo but, crammed as they all were around one table, Bilbo found their legs were all but tangled together. It was terribly distracting, especially as Thorin always seemed to look up whenever Bilbo found the fact crossing his mind.

"You and your bloody cars, Dwalin," he grumbled and stole a chip from Nori's packet. Nori, whose hair today was loose and long enough to brush the small of his back, grunted in complaint and ripped a piece off the bun of Thorin's burger. "Oi. How much further is it to Cambridge anyway?"

"Not long now," Balin said, "We're most of the way there. What'll be difficult is finding Smaug—and places to stay, of course."

This caught Bilbo's attention and he looked up from scraping the bottom of his pot, "What? You don't have anywhere to stay?!"

"I'm not worried about that," Thorin said with a wave of his hand, "Worst-case-scenario, we have the tents."

" _Tents_?!"

Before Thorin could say anything else, Fili and Kili scuttled back into the restaurant. It was impossible not to notice the sweat beading Kili's brow and the downturn of Fili's mouth.

"Er, Thorin," Fili began in a wavering voice. All conversation ceased immediately. Bilbo could see the tension in Thorin's arms as he stared at his younger brothers.

"Fili," he hedged.

"Did you guys—well—don't be upset, but—"

" _Fili_."

"It's the cars," blurted out Kili, "They're gone."


	4. Trolls and Traffic Obstructions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo's first mission as the Company burglar is about to begin. Unfortunately, his companions do not seem to know what a burglar actually is supposed to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't believe it's been so long since I updated this! It hasn't been forgotten, I assure you! ;D I'm still trying to honour the events of the book as best I can, so hopefully this chapter isn't too strange! Enjoy! :)
> 
> (Also, just in case anyone forgot or didn't see last chapter, Bifur can only speak French in this fic.)

“Gone,” Thorin repeated, “What do you mean _gone_?”

Fili laughed, if indeed a slightly hysterical yelp could be called a laugh, “What else does ‘gone’ mean? They’ve _vanished_. They aren’t where they were before!”

“Alright, calm down, lad,” Balin said, the voice of reason, “I’m sure it’s all a mistake. Maybe you just didn’t see them.”

“I’m not that stupid!”

“ _We’re_ not,” corrected Kili. Fili turned a dubious look on him and was rewarded with a punch to the shoulder.

“I beg to differ,” growled Dwalin. When he stood up, his bulk nearly upended their table and Bilbo clung to Bifur in order to avoid being tipped over too. “‘The cars are gone’. I’ve never heard such bull. I bet I’ll step right outside those doors and the cars will be the _first_ thing I see.”

They were not. The McDonald’s car park was nearly packed, save for three conspicuously empty spaces side-by-side. Gloin gave a cry when he spotted them.

“My car! _Where’s my car_?”

“How can three cars just be taken in broad daylight?” exclaimed Dori, “In this day and age!”

“Well,” said Nori, “Stealing cars is easy enough. It’s doing it without getting caught that’s impressive.”

“How would you—never mind.”

“Should we go back into the restaurant?” Bombur suggested in a tremulous voice.

“No,” said Thorin and, just at that, everyone quieted down and turned to him—even Gloin, who had been staring at the parking spaces in vain and wondering how to explain this to his wife. Thorin was not confused, or upset. There was a grim determination to his face that made him seem much older and more weathered than he was. “No. We need to get to Cambridge. We need to find our cars.”

“Find our cars?” Oin said, arching one bushy eyebrow, “I’m afraid you won’t find _detective_ in any of our job descriptions, Oakenshield. We ought to allow the police to handle this and think of something else.”

“That will take too long,” Thorin cried, “and our cars cannot be far. None of us are detective, true—but I can think of at least one burglar.”

“We have a burglar?” Bilbo piped up. There was a very long pause.

“Yes,” Thorin said slowly, “Yes, _Baggins_ , we do.”

There was more silence.

“Oh. _No_.”

“Isn’t that what we brought you on before?” Dwalin asked, advancing forwards. Bilbo edged back, reaching for the nearest arm to steady him. This wound up belonging to Bifur, who patted Bilbo reassuringly and said, “ _Ne vous inquiétez pas._ ”

“Come on, Baggins,” Thorin said reasonably, “We will all look, but you have the advantage. You’re smaller, you won’t stand out, nobody will really give you the time of day—”

“Is this supposed to convince me?!”

“—and all you have to do is _find_ them and then _call_ one of us. Here,” Thorin broke up to reach into his pocket, pulling out a battered Nokia mobile, “do you have a phone? I’ll give you my number. When you find them, call, whether or not there’s anybody with them—”

“Anybody with them?”

“The thieves, Baggins. Whatever you do, _stay away_.”

“Let me get this straight,” Bilbo said shrilly, “You want me to wander about town—a town I’ve never been to, by the way, and so far I don’t care for it—looking for _three cars_ that are possibly being held by _criminals who are potentially dangerous_ , while you guys—what?—stay here and have another bag of chips?”

“No,” said Dwalin, “But I could use more nuggets.”

Before Bilbo could start hyperventilating, Kili bounded forward, hands outstretched.

“I’ll go with you if you like, Mr. Boggins!” he declared, “ _I’m_ not afraid of any—urrrrkk!”

“No,” growled Dori, dragging Kili back by his collar, “You _won’t_.”

Even Bilbo could not object to that. There were some things bouncy sixteen-year-olds that one had just met the day before were ill-suited to do, and confronting car thieves was high on that list.

“We ought to split up to cover more ground,” Bofur said, “Oin and the lads can stay here and call the police—”

“ _Boring_ ,” groaned Kili at the same time that Oin wailed, “Please, God, no!”

“OIN AND THE LADS CAN STAY HERE,” Bofur repeated, glowering at Oin out of the corner of his eye, “And the rest of us can head out and look around. After swapping phone numbers, of course. That sound good?”

“Alright.”

“Sure.”

“Fine.”

“ _Oui_.”

“Grand!” grinned Bofur, “Nori, why don’t you and I head down towards the main road?”

“More of a challenge,” Nori said, but his eyes lit up at the prospect. In the meantime, the rest of the group began debating where they should explore, Oin tried to weasel out of the position of babysitter by begging Dori to take over, Ori, Kili and Fili grumbled about being referred to as babies, and Thorin stepped forward and held a hand out to Bilbo. Bilbo stared at him in response. Was he supposed to…to _hold_ his hand?

“Phone?” Thorin prompted and Bilbo felt his face go up in flames. He could feel the weight of his mobile in his trouser pocket, but still he fumbled and patted the sides of his jacket in his embarrassment.

“Phone!” he replied triumphantly upon tugging it free. The corners of Thorin’s mouth quirked up as he scooped the phone out of Bilbo’s hand. His brow furrowed as he concentrated, programming his number into Bilbo’s phone, and Bilbo could not help but notice. _He looks sweet like this. Not that I would ever say that. He’d probably punch me through a wall._

“Call if you find _anything_ ,” Thorin reiterated, before raising his head, “Dori, Bombur, will you two go with Baggins?”

“Is that a no to going back inside?” Bombur asked with a mournful look towards the entrance of MacDonald’s. Dori hushed him and turned back to Bilbo, who was beginning to regret the McFlurry.

“Come on, then, Bilbo,” he said, shooing him and Bombur towards the pavement, “We’ve got cars to find!”

* * *

 

It took Bilbo, Dori and Bombur about seventeen minutes to find the cars. Five minutes after that, Bilbo was _really sorely very much terribly_ wishing he had just stayed home.

“What have they _done_?” Dori squawked. He struggled to keep his voice quiet, however, for fear that the three large men gathered around three very familiar cars in the alleyway would hear him. Bombur, who had stretched himself out on the pavement, just groaned. Bilbo pressed himself tighter against the wall and peeked around the corner over Dori’s head.

“Oh Lord, Gloin’s going to be so upset,” he whimpered. The sun had finally emerged, so the jagged edges of Gloin’s broken side-window glinted. One of the thugs grumbled something in a voice like crunching gravel as he leaned down to inspect this.

“Never mind _Gloin_ ,” hissed Dori, “That Rover is a rental! How on Earth will I get my deposit back when it’s in such poor shape?”

“You won’t,” Bombur sighed into the ground, “Accept the inevitability of a major loss of profit. And possibly being sued for damage.”

“Really, stop it,” Bilbo chided before Dori could start hyperventilating, “You mustn’t be so negative, Bombur.”

Bombur sat up to gaze unhappily up at Bilbo, “We’re stranded here while three very big, angry-looking men deface our cars. Plus, I left my spare change _and_ my sandwiches with Bofur. I’m going to starve in Stevenage and it’s bloody Oakenshield’s fault.”

“ _Bombur_.”

“We won’t starve,” said Dori, sinking down next to Bombur, “We’ll just wait until the others bring the police. Then we’ll get our cars back and we can go get a nice lunch. Maybe a pub nearby. And then we’ll go to Cambridge and get back Thorin’s property and this will all be over.”

It sounded, in truth, less like Dori was reassuring his companions and more like he was trying to convince himself. Either way, it did not work well.

“Oi, Bill!” came a shout around the corner. Bilbo jerked and tried to flatten himself against the wall. “You done yet? We’ve gotta get up an’ out ‘fore anyone notices!”

“’Ang on a mo,” came another stony rumble, “These windows could be dangerous. God’s sake, Tom, didya _have_ to smash ‘em so bad?”

“I had to act quick, else the alarm would’ve gone!” snapped a third voice, “I’d like to see _you_ hotwire a car any better!”

“I did and that van’s in pretty good nick. We was just lucky no-one ‘eard.”

“Someone might ‘ear _now_!” the first man cried, “Finish yer bloody check-up and let’s go!”

“They’re leaving!” squeaked Bilbo, “What do we do?”

“They can’t go!” Dori cried.

“Are we allowed to stop them? Would that jeopardize the case?”

“Bombur, why would it—?”

“Well someone should—Bilbo!”

“Huh?” said Bilbo, but Bombur was already clambering to his feet. He reached out his meaty hands and seized Bilbo’s arms (partly for the intensity of the situation but also because he needed to balance himself), grinning wildly.

“You’re our burglar! You can do something!”

“What? _No, no n—_ ”

“We can’t just let them go,” Dori conceded, standing up as well and fixing grim blue eyes on Bilbo, “and you _did_ sign on as burglar, like Thorin said.”

“Do either of you know what ‘burglar’ _means_ —?”

“You only need to distract them for a moment, I promise! It’ll be perfectly safe, very easy—”

“Then why don’t _you_ go?”

Dori and Bombur exchanged glances. Then they both looked at Bilbo. Then they exchanged more glances.

“YOU’RE _SCARED_?”

“You’d be much better.”

“You’re smaller and you look trustworthy.”

“YOU’RE JUST TOO SCARED TO, AREN’T YOU?”

“Well, have you seen them?!”

“ _HOW DO YOU THINK I FEEL??_ ”

“Bilbo, just trust us!” Bombur cried and planting his hands on Bilbo’s shoulders, “If you need us, hoot like an owl and we’ll come!”

With one firm twist, Bilbo was spun around and shoved into the mouth of the alley. The thieves saw him immediately.

“Who’re you?”

_Oh gosh. How does an owl even hoot!?_

“…hoo…?”

“Yeah, who’re you?”

Terror clattered against the walls of Bilbo’s heart but he raised his head and tried to steel himself. All three pairs of eyes glowered at him accusingly. “I’m, ah, I’m a bur—a ha—st—”

“What’s a burahast?” asked the smallest of the men, only to yelp as one of his companions reached out and smacked the back of his head.

“No such thing, numbskull,” he said harshly, but Bilbo leapt in before he could carry on.

“Actually, there is!”

The car thieves stared at him. Bilbo’s palms were starting to sweat. _Oh dear, Baggins, what_ have _you got yourself into?_

“What’s a burahast, then?” the smallest ventured again. Bilbo cleared his throat. He could think on his feet when he needed to. He had thought of a story quite efficiently in first-year when the cleaning lady had wanted to know how brownie mix had got on the kitchen ceiling and Bilbo’s pot-smoking flatmates had begged him to keep their secret. There was no reason why he could not do so now, even if there was a difference between chatting to a friendly, short, middle-aged woman and staring down three gruff, probably dangerous men who had stolen three cars.

“A burahast,” he began, striving to keep his tone even, “is a…plain-clothes law enforcement officer…who specialises in traffic control. We work very closely with parking attendants.”

He received three blank stares in reply.

“Never ‘eard of one,” the biggest said slowly.

“We’re a new division,” Bilbo coughed, “on a trial period really, so we’re _very_ new. Do you have permission to park here?”

Even in the gloom of the alleyway, he saw the smallest man stiffen. There was a moment of hesitation before the biggest lumbered towards Bilbo. When the shadows had fallen away from him, Bilbo saw that he had a shaved head and narrowed eyes under the thick shelf of his brow. Stopping a foot away from Bilbo, he folded his arms—thick, muscled, could-probably-strangle-you-with-just-one arms—and scowled.

“There summat wrong with parking ‘ere?” he asked. Suppressing a shiver, Bilbo forced himself to meet the man’s eyes.

“T-this is a delivery zone,” Bilbo said, “You can’t park here i-if you might obstruct traffic. That w-would be…bad.”

The man’s scowl deepened. A sickening mix of nerves and determination spurred Bilbo on, even as he wondered why he did not just shut his mouth.

“F-for that matter, I-I’d like to see your, ah, licenses,” he stammered, “I-I don’t want any trouble. Let me see your licenses and-and if there’s no problem, I’ll leave, otherwise I’ll just ask you to move. That sounds reasonable, doesn’t it?”

“Oh, yeah,” the man nodded, eyebrows lifting as though in agreement, “It does. How does this sound for reasonable: I wanna see your badge.”

Bilbo’s stomach swooped, “M-my badge?”

“You’re some sorta cop, right? Must have a badge. Show me, and me and my buddies will move sharpish.”

“W-we’re a plain-clothes division—”

“What, so you don’t have ID?” one of the other men asked suspiciously.

“O-of course I do…”

“I think I’m beginning to get it!” cried the smaller one, “He doesn’t _‘ave_ a badge!”

“Yeah, Tom,” the middle man said in exasperation, “We all got that.”

“I bet he isn’t even a real burahast!”

“That’s because burahasts aren’t _real_ , Tom!”

“Don’t be stupid. Why would ‘e lie about that?”

“Good question!” chirped a fourth voice. Bilbo startled and nearly tripped over his own feet as he turned to find Grey propped up against the alley wall, bushy eyebrows arched and looking for all the world like he was contemplating the weather. Behind him, a police car dawdled by the curb and two police officers stood, hands on hips, glaring over Bilbo at the men beyond.

“I suppose we can answer it too,” Grey added, “once you’ve been put in custody, of course.”

As if on cue, the officers strode forward. Bilbo could barely hear the yells and protests of the thieves over the pounding of his own delighted heart in his ears.

“I’m so happy to see you!” he exclaimed. Grey beamed at him.

“I’m happy to see you too, Bilbo!”

“Er, I was talking to the policemen.”

“Ah.”


	5. Route 88

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Company's troubles are not quite over yet. Luckily, Grey is a well-connected man.
> 
> In the meantime, Bilbo needs to figure out a not-creepy way of complimenting Thorin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, okay, it has been a _long time_ since I updated this story. This is literally disgusting, and to anyone who read this before and is reading now, I am very, VERY sorry! Please believe me when I say that I never forgot about it, and that I really do know where I'm going with it, despite all evidence to the contrary! Thank you so much for reading :)

The Company hit the road again at around three o’clock, after a brief, mostly cordial meeting with the Stevenage Police Department (the only tense moment of which was when one officer with an eye-patch seemed to  _recognise_  Nori and bestowed upon him the filthiest look; Nori only shrugged and waggled his fingers when asked about it) and a hunt around the nearby shops for some canvas to cover up the broken window of Gloin’s car. Dori and Bombur’s hopes of stopping for lunch were dashed, what with Thorin being so antsy to leave and head for Cambridge, but while most of their backs were turned Balin snuck into a newsagent’s and returned with a bag full of sandwiches and water, which promised to alleviate even Bombur’s direst hunger pangs.

 

So it was fifteen more-or-less cheerful men in three more-or-less functional vehicles who travelled onwards, and Bilbo even dared to imagine that it might remain that way for the rest of their journey. Perhaps this weekend would not be a complete disaster after all.

 

_Ha-ha._

Only about twenty-five minutes after leaving Stevenage, Thorin’s phone buzzed with a text message. Bilbo didn’t pay it any mind at first. He, Ori and Kili were having quite a happy chat, while Grey gazed out the window humming to himself and Fili had plugged into his music player. It felt peaceful, for the first time all day. Even Dwalin was contentedly quiet.

 

Until Thorin said, “Shit.”

 

“What’s up?” Dwalin asked immediately, glancing at him. Bilbo couldn’t see Thorin’s face, but when the man lifted his head to look at Dwalin he spied the clench of his jaw.

 

“It’s Nori. Their engine’s breaking down, and they have to pull over.”

 

“ _Shit_. What should we do? We can’t exactly ditch ‘em.”

 

Thorin took a moment to answer. The back seats were deathly silent now; even Grey had risen out of his ponderings to watch, eyebrows up. Thorin exhaled heavily and angrily through his nose.

 

“Pull over too. We’ll see what’s what, and make a plan then.”

 

“Aye, aye,” Dwalin muttered, and obediently swung left without bothering to indicate. Bilbo lurched nearly into Ori’s lap.

 

No matter _how_ this weekend turned out, he decided, he would never again get in a car with Dwalin Fundinson.

 

When the lot of them had clambered out of Thorin’s van, the other cars had lined up neatly on the hard shoulder, and the rest of the gang were gathered around the open bonnet of the Range Rover. Dori was busy trying to shoo them all out of the way as Thorin strode up, loudly insisting that they weren’t going to be any help.

 

“The engine started sputtering nearly as soon as we got onto this road!” he exclaimed in exasperation when they had all gathered around, “And then the emergency light came on and I thought, ‘well, this looks like an emergency’, and _Nori_ wanted to carry right on—!”

 

“Those lights are nearly always only guidelines,” Nori said in the most reasonable voice, “I had a car for three years, my ‘check engine’ light was lit up for practically all that time. And it drove like a dream!”

 

“Where is that car now?” Bofur asked.

 

“Engine exploded one day. Why?”

 

“ _Well_ …”

 

Bilbo could see that thread of conversation going nowhere quickly, and they did not exactly have much time to waste. Better to try and steer them onto sensible territory.

 

Then again, this entire pursuit was a little bit void of sense.

 

And Bilbo was hardly one to talk.

 

But, hey, better late than never to have a go.

 

“What’s the plan then?” he piped up before Bofur could finish his sentence. Nearly every eye turned to look at him, and unwittingly Bilbo felt the tips of his ears heat up. “Well, I mean…should we call breakdown repair?”

 

“They’ll take forever to get here!” Thorin cried, and turned to Dori, “Is there nothing we can do ourselves? Christ, Dwalin works in a mechanic’s shop!”

 

“Nowt I can do without the time and the tool kit,” Dwalin replied.

 

“There must be _something_.”

 

“Let me have a look!” Kili chirped, and started to wriggle through the crowd towards the car, “Not to toot my own horn, so to speak, but I’ve played a _lot_ of Grand Theft Auto over the years—”

 

“Nope,” came Fili’s voice, and then Kili was dragged back through the crowd pouting.

 

“I don’t suppose we could fit everyone else in the other cars?” Bilbo suggested weakly.

 

“It’d be a squeeze,” Balin said, “and we’d probably get ourselves arrested if a patrol car saw us.”

 

Why did Bilbo feel like getting arrested was an inevitability anyway? He nearly said that aloud, hoping to buoy the atmosphere a little bit, but was abruptly interrupted by none other than Grey.

 

“Let me handle this.”

 

Grey was stood a little outside of the group, just quiet enough and far enough away that Bilbo nearly hadn’t registered his presence. The rest of the Company, too, looked around in surprise to face him, only to be surprised again to see him with his phone pressed to his ear.

 

“What are you doing?” Thorin asked warily. Grey smiled at him and flapped one hand airily.

 

“Calling in a favour,” he trilled, “Don’t mind me. While we wait, contact Auto Assistance, won’t you? That car will need to be picked up, and the rental company contacted, surely. Mister Dori will be owed a fair amount if he had the car insured.”

 

“I _told you_ getting insurance was a good idea!” Dori crowed. Nori just stuck out his tongue—and one hand in a very rude gesture, for which Dori smacked him round the ear.

 

“Who do you think he’s calling?” Bilbo wondered aloud. Next to him, Balin shrugged.

 

“God only knows. The man has many friends, from who knows where, but at least so far it’s done us good instead of bad.”

 

“That’s true,” Bilbo allowed; then, eyes narrowed suspiciously, he asked, “Have you known Grey long?”

 

“Me? No.”

 

“You didn’t go to school with him?” Bilbo persisted. Balin blinked at him.

 

“I thought _you_ did.”

 

“DOES GREY EVEN GO TO UNIVERSITY?!”

 

A handful of minutes later, Grey hung up his phone and turned to the gathering before him with a grin.

 

“Good news! Help shall be here imminently. You needn’t worry about the car, Dori my lad; someone will be here with it when the AA comes.”

 

“Thank _God_!” gasped Fili, “I thought we’d be stuck out here for hours.”

 

Kili and Ori were equally pleased, but the older members of the Company, Bilbo included, shared uncertain looks.

 

“ _What_ help?” Thorin asked. Grey just flashed him a grin.

 

“Help!” he repeated jauntily, “And it shall be here soon. You’re welcome, Mr. Oakenshield!”

 

With that, he spun on his heel and wandered down the road a little way with no more than a last wave over his shoulder. He was either ignoring or oblivious to Thorin’s glaring after him.

 

“Alright, Thorin, don’t strain yourself,” Fili said delicately, reaching out to tug on his brother’s arm, “Let’s sit down and chill out for a bit before these guys come, eh?”

 

“The boy’s got the right of it,” Dwalin said, and then hunkered down on the grassy verge and pulled a cigarette out of his pocket, “All considered, this could be a lot worse.”

 

They were all broken down at the side of a busy road, being honked at by cars speeding past them as they awaited nameless and mysterious “help”. Bilbo couldn’t honestly see how it _could_ get a lot worse, but thinking about it felt too much like tempting fate, so Bilbo instead thanked God it at least wasn’t raining and dropped down on the verge too.

 

The rest of the Company milled about, apparently all accepting that for now there was nothing to do but wait. Kili, Fili and Ori headed off to “explore”, whatever there was too explore. Dori hovered for a moment, torn between clucking after them like a mother hen and allowing three near-grown boys their independence, before eventually deciding on the latter and forcing himself to perch on the hood of Gloin’s car, joined by a sympathetic-looking Balin. Bofur, Bombur and Bifur started ransacking the dead Range Rover, ultimately producing the last couple of sandwiches (which, judging by the glint in Bombur’s eyes, wouldn’t last long), a stack of books, the car air freshener shaped like a pine tree that Bifur stealthily pocketed, and a little square packet that _Bofur_ stealthily pocketed. Gloin was on the phone, Oin had pulled out a Kindle and his reading glasses, Nori had vanished from view, and Thorin was walking towards him and—

 

Oh.

 

Bilbo tried to mask his surprise when Thorin sat on the grass between him and Dwalin, but knew from the way he felt his face spasm that he had most likely failed. Thorin, however, didn’t seem to notice.

 

The silent moments that followed were probably the tensest of Bilbo’s life—and that is without exaggeration. Thorin was close— _very_ close. There was barely a hair’s breadth between his arm and Thorin’s; they would brush if Bilbo dared to lean just an inch to his right. He was near enough to feel that Thorin was all heat; it radiated off him, even though their shoulders were barely touching, and the warmth pleasantly penetrated Bilbo’s own skin through his clothes.

 

(It was a bad time, perhaps, to think of the word ‘ _penetrate_ ’.)

 

Bilbo longed to ask Thorin why he was here, how he was, what he wanted to do—he wanted to say _anything_ , truth be told, anything to convince Thorin that he was not a mindless idiot—but his throat had suddenly dried up, and besides, Thorin seemed happy to be quiet and Bilbo didn’t fancy breaking the silence all _that_ much.

 

Probably for the best, because in those moments Bilbo could think of nothing but how deeply, honestly, totally attracted to Thorin he was.

 

Not that he had ever denied to himself that he _was_ , but Bilbo had tried quite hard today and yesterday to act like he wasn’t. It wouldn’t exactly be appropriate, after all, on this revenge quest surrounded by thirteen other men, to start a flirtation. He barely knew Thorin, anyway. He didn’t know what he liked, what he hated, what he studied, or even if he was interested in other men. Anything he could possibly feel towards him was most likely carnal, lust-driven, something base and earthy and—

 

Okay, that train of thought wasn’t helping either. Now Bilbo was thinking about _sex_ with Thorin, while sitting _next_ to Thorin, while surrounded by a dozen of Thorin’s nearest and dearest, while on the side of a road with literally THOUSANDS OF OTHER PEOPLE streaming past them.

 

And it occurred to Bilbo then how poor his life decisions were.

 

Near his ear, someone cleared his throat. “Uh, Baggins?”

 

The sound made Bilbo jump, and he had to clasp a hand to his heart to reassure himself that he wasn’t having a heart attack, and all his blood was in the right place. Thorin stared at him.

 

_Smooth, Bilbo._

“Sorry,” Bilbo said weakly, and cleared his own throat, “What can I do for you?”

 

“I didn’t mean to scare you,” Thorin said, a hint of a smile pulling at his lips. It wasn’t a mocking one, however, and Bilbo summoned the nerve to smile back. “I only meant to…I should thank you, for today.”

 

Well, Bilbo hadn’t expected _that_. He double-checked his heart again, just to make sure he hadn’t gone into arrest and started having fever dreams.

 

“Thank me for what?” he asked stupidly.

 

“For everything,” Thorin replied, eyes widening in earnestness, “For what you did in Stevenage, distracting those thieves. And for helping us keep levelheaded just now, with the car. I met you only yesterday, and you’ve already proven more competent than most of my best friends.”

 

A very derisive snort echoed behind Thorin at that, and then Thorin jerked forward as if shoved. For a mad moment, Bilbo had thought Thorin was going to kiss him.

 

Then Thorin twisted around to nudge Dwalin back, with a murmur of “ _Arsehole_ ” and a grin, and Bilbo shook himself back to reality.

 

“Well, you’re more than welcome,” he forced himself to speak calmly when Thorin turned back to him, “I’m only trying to do my part.”

 

“Well, so far, you’re doing more than that,” Thorin argued, still grinning, “And I owe you very much for it. Most would never have agreed to do this. Truth be told, I never thought you would come today.”

 

“Of course you wouldn’t. Look at me!” Bilbo said wryly, gesturing at himself to indicate…well, himself.

 

“You don’t look much like a burglar,” Thorin allowed. Bilbo remembered his comment yesterday, how he looked more like a grocer than a burglar. Thorin was undoubtedly thinking of it too, for his gaze softened and turned a little towards the apologetic. “But Grey trusts you, and I’m beginning to think now that he’s right to.”

 

Bilbo was not sure what he had done to earn Grey’s trust—when the hell had he _met_ Grey, for real?—but he reminded himself to thank Grey later for his recommendation. “I appreciate that. If _I’m_ telling the truth, I didn’t think I’d come either.”

 

Thorin raised his eyebrows, smile hesitating just a little, and Bilbo quickly added, “Just because I never do anything like this! Not because of yo—of, you know, last night, or any of you.”

 

“I do seem to recall you saying that this trip seemed _silly_ , last night,” Thorin pointed out, but in a teasing tone rather than a malicious one. Bilbo’s stomach fluttered despite himself, and he pulled his knees up to his chest and hunched over as if to compress it into behaving.

 

“Yes, well, that’s before I knew what the shot glass meant to you,” he said without thinking, “Now I’m rather happy to be on this journey, truth be told.”

 

Silence greeted this. Thorin was staring at him again, eyes round and face slightly slack, in something like shock. Bilbo’s stomach roiled again, unpleasantly. Had he offended Thorin in some way? He had only told him the truth—and it _was_ the truth, he had realized as he said it. Everything that could have conceivably gone wrong so far had gone wrong, but Bilbo knew that he would not change any of it if he could. He had not felt as alive as he had running out his front door in years.

 

And doing it all for a shot glass at first had seemed ridiculous, but now Bilbo thought that if he could get Thorin back this one relic of his family, it would be a weekend well spent.

 

Now, how to say that in such a way that it didn’t creep Thorin out too much?

 

Luckily—or unluckily, depending on how you look at it—he was spared the effort. Thorin dropped his gaze abruptly, then looked up again and focused his eyes somewhere on Bilbo’s nose. “Thank you, that means very much,” he said quickly.

 

“You’re,” Bilbo stuttered, “You’re welcome—”

 

“ThankyounowIhavetogoexcuseme.”

 

Then Thorin had shot up and off down the verge after his brothers, holding himself stiffly and walking as fast as one could without outright running. Bilbo stared after him and felt his heart sink like a stone in his chest.

 

_Very smooth, Bilbo._

_Only you could try to compliment your crush, and wind up offending him._

That was when he noticed Dwalin.

 

Dwalin, who had silently borne witness to the whole exchange. Dwalin, who was sat on the other side of the space Thorin had vacated, who was now looking at Bilbo with dark, inscrutable eyes.

 

Bilbo swallowed hard.

 

“Hello,” he said awkwardly. Dwalin didn’t reply, save to take another drag on his cigarette. Wisps of white-grey smoke curled over him, as if a cloud of mist was clinging to the dome of his head. That, teamed with Dwalin’s contemplative expression, made the man look less like a thug and more like a twentieth-century philosopher.

 

Who looked a bit like a thug.

 

“Don’t mind him,” Dwalin said, breaking Bilbo out of his thoughts.

 

“Who?” asked Bilbo. Dwalin arched an eyebrow.

 

“Thorin,” he said slowly, as if it were obvious, “Don’t mind Thorin. He’s not angry, just doesn’t know what to do with people sometimes. He’s not the social butterfly I am.”

 

Laughter bubbled up in Bilbo’s throat, but just as he began to smile he was hit by the sudden suspicion that Dwalin _wasn’t joking_. Instead, he choked it back down and said, “Hmm.”

 

“So don’t worry your head too much,” Dwalin finished, and took another pull on his cigarette. The stone in Bilbo’s chest lifted slightly at his words.

 

“I didn’t upset him?”

 

“Nah,” Dwalin said, with a shrug of one shoulder. Relief made Bilbo feel weightless, and he practically beamed at Dwalin, who in that moment was his savior and greatest friend.

 

“Thank you!” he said, with all the feeling in the world. Dwalin shrugged again.

 

“No skin off my nose,” he replied nonchalantly. Then he peered at Bilbo out of the corner of his eye, suddenly sharp-gazed. “By the way, Baggins, you got a girlfriend?”

 

Bilbo crashed back down to Earth with a jolt. “ _Excuse me_?” he squawked.

 

Dwalin, for his part, was unfazed, “Got a girlfriend? Boyfriend? Nonspecific partner?”

 

Bilbo gaped at him. Dwalin finally turned his head and stared right back at him, defiant. He was _seriously_ asking, Bilbo figured out, and unlikely to explain himself before he got an answer.

 

“Um,” Bilbo swallowed again, “Er, no on all counts. Why?”

 

“I see,” Dwalin mused aloud, and flicked his cigarette away.

 

“ _Why_?” Bilbo pressed, and Dwalin shrugged at him. He did that a lot, _shrugging_.

 

“No reason,” he said innocently, and then got up, brushed down his trousers, and strode off whistling. Bilbo was left alone on the verge, mouth opening and closing to attempts to ask the thin air his many, many questions, mind fuzzing with confusion.

 

He did not get long to ruminate on it, however. Before long, Bilbo heard Grey call out cheerfully that their help had finally arrived. And not a damn minute too soon, he thought to himself, standing up and feeling pins-and-needles prick his foot. It felt like ages since they had all been stranded on this verge, and Bilbo Baggins for one was tired of looking ridiculous.

 

“Holy _shit!_ ”

 

“Kili Oakenshield, you watch your to—oh, holy _shit_.”

 

The sudden chorus of shouts and curse words did occur to Bilbo as slightly odd; but, hey, wasn’t the whole Company just a few sandwiches short of a picnic? Perhaps this was just how they celebrated the coming of assistance. It would hardly be the strangest thing that had happened today.

 

That was when Bilbo looked up and saw the limousine.

 

_Never mind._

“Didn’t I tell you I’d sort it?” Grey said, pleased, and somehow magically stood right next to Bilbo. Bilbo started back with a yelp of surprise. “Sorry, dear fellow. But won’t it work a treat? And there’s room enough for us all! Come along, now, I don’t wish to keep my good friend waiting.”

 

Bilbo gaped at him. Then at the limousine, pulling smoothly into the lane before them. Then at Grey again. Then at the limousine for good measure.

 

“You look confused,” Grey commented.

 

Bilbo looked at him, felt defeat weigh heavy and cold upon his heart, and slumped his shoulders.

 

“Frankly, Grey, I don’t think I’ll ever feel not confused again.”

 

“That’s what I like to hear!” Grey chirped, and took hold of Bilbo’s arm, “Come on, I want to introduce you.”

 

“To who?” Bilbo started to ask, but the universe answered that question for him. The limo had braked to a halt by now and, as the astounded men flocked around the rear of the car, far ahead the passenger door swung open. Out of the limousine stepped the most elegant man Bilbo had ever laid eyes open.

 

“Mithrandir!” he called out, a grin revealing two rows of pearly white teeth. When he swept his Aviator sunglasses off, Bilbo saw a proud face, with wise eyes winking at him, and the sunlight glinting off a head of sleek dark hair. The sunglasses he tucked into the breast pocket of his black suit jacket as he began to walk towards them, all the while speaking in a deep, lilting voice, “We nearly thought we had missed you.”

 

“You’ll find I’m not so easy to just miss,” Grey retorted, and stepped forward to embrace his friend. The man laughed—“I should never have doubted it!”— and Bilbo saw his hands clutch briefly at Grey’s back, pulling him closer.

 

Who _was_ this handsome stranger?

 

More importantly, who the hell was _Mithrandir?_

 

“I heard on the wire that there’d been some issue of car-jacking in Stevenage,” the man was saying as he pulled away from Grey. His eyes twinkled, blue and merry. “ _You_ wouldn’t have had something to do with that, would you?”

 

“Perhaps,” Grey replied, “Although I must say, I was barely involved. The good men behind me, you’ll find, perpetrated most of the shenanigans.”

 

Now it seemed the man finally took notice of the gang gathered at the boot of his limo, wide-eyed and staring. His lips crooked up into a genial smile.

 

“My cargo, I presume,” he said, and then sidestepped Grey and held a hand out to Thorin, “A pleasure. I am Elrond Peredhel.”

 

“Thorin Oakenshield,” Thorin said, warily taking Elrond’s hand in his own. They shook once, and Elrond retracted his hand with a pleased nod.

 

“I understand I’m to take you to Cambridge,” he said, “Some business with…a fellow named Smaug, wasn’t it?”

 

As it always did when Smaug’s name was mentioned, Thorin’s face darkened. “Yes. A student at the University.”

 

“I know,” Elrond said, returning Thorin’s frown with a grim look of his own, “Smaug is not unheard of to me. In fact, I am quite familiar with his doings.”

 

Thorin blinked, evidently as startled as Bilbo suddenly felt. “What do you mean?”

 

Elrond did not reply. Instead, he glanced once at Grey, with some question in his eyes that Bilbo could not tell. He didn’t get a chance to see how Grey responded, but abruptly Elrond was turning a beaming smile back onto Thorin and his Company.

 

“There’ll be time enough to discuss that,” he exclaimed, “For now, however, I am doing a favour for a very good friend, and rescuing some good men in the meantime. All in a day’s work! Shall we set off?”

 

“What about our own cars? And who’s to wait with the Range Rover?” Dwalin piped up, resolutely ignoring Elrond and instead directing his questions to the back of Thorin’s head. Elrond, however, was not to be deterred.

 

“Those have already been sorted,” Elrond told him, waving a hand as if to bat such absurd questions away, “I intend to show my guests every courtesy, and that includes all fifteen of them enjoying a relaxing ride in my limousine. Your cars will be taken well care of.”

 

“ _His_ limousine?” Bilbo heard Nori mutter, in a _very_ interested tone.

 

“Hush, you,” Bofur hissed back.

 

Dwalin’s eyes narrowed at Elrond. “With all due respect, Mr. Peregrin—”

 

“Peredhel.”

 

“—Percival, I don’t much like the idea of leaving our cars in the hands of strangers. As you already know, they’ve been nicked once today, and once is more than enough.”

 

“A fair concern,” Elrond allowed, with a curt nod, “Well, sirs, if you would prefer, you may of course accompany us in your own cars, and my limousine will simply take the excess of you. A man will still wait with your broken-down car, unless you’d prefer to handle that yourself too?”

 

Dwalin turned to arch an eyebrow at Dori, “You wanna stick around with the Rover?”

 

Dori did not reply right away. He was too busy looking at the limo.

 

“… _DORI!_ ”

 

“Hah? OH,” Dori squawked, wrenching his eyes away from the limousine, “Terribly sorry, Dwalin. Um, no, I’ll trust Mr. Peredhel’s man to handle it, hem.”

 

Dwalin rolled his eyes so violently, Bilbo worried they’d fall back into his skull. It was a struggle to suppress a smile at that.

 

“Very well then!” Elrond declared, satisfied, “We’ll set off then. Simply follow us; we should be in Cambridge and to my estate within the hour.”

 

“ _Estate_?!”

 

“Shut UP, Nor!”

__


End file.
